


Infandous

by kiranstein



Series: billet-doux [1]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, with a happy ending(?)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 16:38:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/915524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiranstein/pseuds/kiranstein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s always a delicate balance he can’t manage – like those dishes he broke the summer he decided to get a job to pay for the expenses of taking the train to practice. There’s a scar from then and Sehun rubs it, not massage, just a forced tug of the skin to help take off the heat from Luhan’s words. They were not the first to scald him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Infandous

“Stop that.” Luhan’s got Sehun’s arm pulled back. There’s no hint of laughter in his face anymore and Sehun panics. It’s like all nineteen years of experience crashing back into him, a little nagging sensation that that’s it – he’s too young. He retracts his arm fast enough, Luhan’s words hurt more than a burn, and no one else has noticed it yet.

It’s always a delicate balance he can’t manage – like those dishes he broke the summer he decided to get a job to pay for the expenses of taking the train to practice. There’s a scar from then and Sehun rubs it, not massage, just a forced tug of the skin to help take off the heat from Luhan’s words. They were not the first to scald him.

Sehun shies away from the jokes that night. It’s not funny when there’s enough soju flowing around for the bitterness to come out and he makes up for it by eating more than he’s capable of. It settles uneasily in his stomach, the burn of the food and alcohol like a foul smell. Too impotent for his purposes and the food’s making its way to indigestion.

 

 

Life’s like a game of gay chicken, Sehun thinks, except no one’s a chicken and there’s a fifty percent chance he’s the gay one. No one else is, at least not that he knows of. They’re all hetero jokes and clothes and sports and girlfriends that he can’t compete with. Christmas nights and new years are mainly just him in the dorms because everyone can sneak out to meet someone – a girl back in their hometown – and sometimes Luhan wanders in from the apartment next door because Yixing’s busy talking to his parents and his girlfriend, Kris is too, and Tao’s already drowning in his own tears.

Those are the nights he treasures. Long nights of just them, huddled up on the couch and watching reruns of dramas with bad acting and an even worse plot. They litter the place with ramen cups and takeout boxes because between them, the only thing they can do without setting the place on fire is boiling water. Sehun used to snicker about it, Luhan the adult with no shred of adulthood about him, leaning into Luhan’s side giggling while Luhan pretended to be mad and ignore Sehun for the entirety of two seconds before bursting out laughing himself.

It’s fun when there’s two of them, Sehun thinks, they could have been forever, snickering under thick blankets whenever someone got caught sneaking out because that would never be them. Sehun has no one and Luhan doesn’t either. 

 

 

Good things come in small packages and it’s almost right. Luhan sends him little trinkets when he goes back to Beijing. Stupid tourist things like a key chain of the ugliest representation of the Great Wall he’s ever seen, complete with bits of peeling grey paint on the edges. He texts Luhan before remembering that’s long distance and accidentally deletes half of his literature assignment by slamming his head on his keyboard because he's kind of an idiot.

Luhan takes it in a stride and just emails him back an emoticon that’s sticking its finger up and asks how Sehun’s doing.

Sehun has nearly moved to the spot next to the door by the time Luhan comes back even though the internet there is the shittiest because there’s some twisted theory in his mind that the closer he was to Luhan’s landing point, the sooner he would see Luhan, never mind the fact that he’s only about five meters closer.  

It’s two in the morning when Luhan trips over Sehun, bruising both their legs, but he’s laughing so hard he’s cackling and there are more chins than Sehun can count.

 

 

The drift is slow, it’s like falling snow – soft and quiet, might miss it if you weren’t paying attention, but it builds up all the same and now Sehun spends his nights pulling out the threads in his sleeves and cringing at crappy dramas by himself because another fan’s decided to dedicate another website to the amount of air between him and Luhan every time they’re out.

It doesn’t bother him like it seems to bother Luhan even though Luhan never says anything. He just doesn’t come over to Sehun’s room any more, freezing up whenever Sehun so much as brushes past him. The last Christmas was just Sehun staring out the window wandering where was Santa when you needed him because he sure as hell wasn’t granting wishes and giving gifts.

There’s no more laughing and Sehun realizes it too late, he’d been too wrapped up in his head and now things have changed. He was scared of being lost in the crowd the first time and now he’s actually lost, grasping at air for all the good it does.

Sehun takes an extra long shower when it hits him, the steam covering up everything in the room until he can’t even see his hand in front of his face and that’s when it starts shaking.

 

 

He can’t bring it up, he tries, he does every day, but food gets stuck – the sushi he ate sticking all his vocal cords together and he can’t find the courage to try it again. Luhan just looks back at him, quizzical, but Sehun’s not dumb enough to not realize it’s fake, and that’s what eats at him the most because Luhan knows what’s happening and he’s not doing anything.

The only way he stops himself from lying on the ground and wallowing in the sofa is hitting the gym. The cold metal bars locked in a room no one really goes in despite their claims and Sehun can go unwind by lifting and ripping his fibers and tissues and it feels good, to have stress on something other than his brain. There’s a constant headache pounding at his temples and the fatigue means he gets at least eight hours of dreamless sleep.

The euphoria lasts for a while, the fans start commenting on his arms and even the others are patting him on the back. Luhan looks at him wistfully but he’s not sure if he dreamed it up, he’s too tired to be functional any more.

 

 

The collapse is painless or at least he’s too drugged up to notice any lasting effects other than how his world sort of swirls around when he tries to stand up but the nurses push him back on to the bed before he gets anywhere.

There’s no one there to see him, they’re all back at the dorms or practice room because one down doesn’t mean the entire team has to take the hit. Their next schedule’s a radio show and there’s nothing much after that so the doctor just forces him to stay for a night with strict instructions to rest up.

He spends the day twiddling his thumb because there’s nothing to do really, the television is boring, there’s no phones allowed and the internet, he’s pretty sure, is some sort of decrepit dialup thing whose only purpose is to drive him nuts.

No one comes for him at all, a two minute phone call from his manager, and then, nothing.

He’s pulled out enough threads that his blanket is falling apart by nightfall.

 

 

His change of clothes is delivered in a wrinkly paper bag that screams Luhan, the only one who’s messy enough to have a paper bag that beat up, but the nurse isn’t sure, she just hands it to him with a shrug and gives a vague approximation of height. It fits Luhan, but then it also fits five billion other people who are five foot nine.

There’s no celebration when he gets back to the dorm, only a cold bowl of fried rice that’s Kyungsoo’s attempt at cooking and some ddeokbokki from the old lady down the street. He scarfs it down gratefully regardless, it’s a bit of kindness that’s probably cost Kyungsoo several hours of sleep he could have used.

He stays up till midnight, slowly cutting his way through the ddeokbokki, he knows better than to wait by now. He still does though, waits until his manager comes him and physically pushes him out of the chair and into the shower to get cleaned up and into bed.

 

 

The days only get longer while he’s on the mend, there’s nothing to drown things out with any more. The television doesn’t help and there is only so much internet he can take before he bursts with the need to just talk to someone, to tell a dumb joke, anything that’s not hours of practice and running over lines to songs in which he doesn’t even sing.

Things have slowed down but they’ve sped up too and Sehun’s head throbs in time to the music.

 

 

They don’t talk things over, topics are skirted around, yellow tape is wrapped around sensitive topics and they don’t touch it. Sehun’s too worn out to keep on pushing and Luhan was never there in the first place.

Sometimes Luhan will smile back and it feels alright but half a second later, two flashes, and he’s gone again.

 

 

It gets better when there are less cameras around, Sehun can feel the laughs again. Summer is oppressive but it’s lighter than the last summer, the less bright lights focused on them the better. Luhan recovers neatly during the sweltering months, going as far as bringing back food for Sehun, like the past few months – year – were just wiped from his memory.

Sehun accepts gracefully, because he can’t imagine going backwards again, but he tries to be more measured this time, reins himself in when it gets too heated and he starts investing in too much.

It’s the closeness that’s burning this time around because Sehun wants to lean in closer, he does so very badly, but Luhan’s been leaning away so often this doesn’t feel real any more. Maybe his dizzy spell left him with more lasting side effects than the doctor accounted for. Luhan just meets his hesitance with a lopsided grin and burrows into their shared blanket because it’s too cold for a September night and there’s another shitty drama on the television.

 

 

The drama nights go on and off like a scheduled maintenance, Luhan swings back and forth, and by the fifth week, Sehun can almost predict it. Any overt mention of them together and Luhan’s gone, he’s next door, but he might as well be on the next planet over. So Sehun adapts, he kind of sucks and still overdoes it at the gym when that happens, but he gets better at handling it.

 

Until he doesn’t.

It’s Christmas again and while Sehun loves snow, he’s too riled up for anything hot and sweet. He just wants to punch through the wall because Luhan’s flaking again. There’s a new thread on a forum and it’s so fucking popular that Luhan hasn’t even been in a ten meter radius of Sehun for the past week.

He knows Luhan knows he’s irked. Luhan’s not even smiling at him anymore, not really, his eyes go fuzzy and sometimes when he’s really bad at concealing his discomfort, they cross and Sehun wants to shout and shake him until he stops being so –

“Sehun?”

Luhan’s voice is soft, Sehun’s surprised he heard it. But Sehun keeps his back to Luhan for a few moments, moving away from the wall, the dent’s too large to hide, and he takes in a deep breath and another. Yoga breaths that only work if you actually believe in the whitewashed crap they sell you, so he's still irritated after, only with a few less breaths of air in him.

The floor doesn’t creak with footsteps, though Luhan’s half way across the room when Sehun turns back. He has his hands out like Sehun’s some wildlife with a caution sign slapped on his face.

“Are you okay?”

Sehun takes in Luhan’s stance critically – he’s in pajamas with sleep mussed hair but his eyes are alert and his hands have fallen down, hanging uselessly from his sides. He’s already got his answer and Sehun can see it in the way Luhan shifts back and forward imperceptibly, the fight between a comforting hug and retreating back. He’s so incredibly open when he’s half asleep and Sehun doesn’t answer, just stare back at Luhan – waiting because when is he _not_ waiting. Luhan’s the wild one here.

Luhan lurches forward and gives Sehun the lightest of hugs before moving back and away from Sehun’s reach. He tilts a little forward again, still indecisive, when Sehun stays slumped over in his spot.

Sehun can feel himself falling asleep and he moves to sit back down on the sofa while Luhan goes through his mini crisis. He’s sick of it, sick of them but he just wants Luhan to understand and realize and something tangible, just not the constant back and forth.

He has his eyes closed and the television’s on mute. Luhan’s shifting carefully on to the sofa, dipping it down. Sehun stays motionless, he doesn’t know what he’s keeping his peace for. There are fingers in his hair though, carding through the strands and it’s the most relaxed Sehun’s felt in ages. He doesn’t want to give it up but there must be something about an overly melodramatic actress because for the first time in a long time, he clears his throat and asks.

It’s gravelly and rough, low enough that the hum of the fridge almost covers it. But he knows Luhan heard it, he freezes up for half a second before forcibly relaxing and continue running his fingers through Sehun’s hair. There isn’t an answer, not for a long while. They spend the rest of the night just drowsing on the couch and Sehun’s too tired to ask again.

When he wakes up, Luhan’s not there. He’s not surprised, the television’s still on though and there’s a mug of hot cocoa on the table that’s steaming. Sehun isn’t sure if it’s an apology of some kind of because the only kind of sorry Luhan has are gifts. There’s a slip of paper that’s right under his cup that he might have missed if it wasn’t so obnoxiously festive and he unfolds it, leaving the cup on the table.

The writing’s a bit shoddy and it doesn’t say much.

_I’m sorry._

It doesn’t say what for, so Sehun just does his own deductions, tucks it into his pocket and focuses on finishing his cup of melted chocolate.

 

 

Luhan comes back into Sehun’s side of the wall sometime in the afternoon, looking none too well. He’s shuffling his socks against the wood and staring intensely at the wall between bouts of explanations. They’re not very good ones, riddled with fear and anxiety, there’s doubt that Sehun would feel the same and then an overwhelming fear of forcing Sehun’s hand – he just doesn’t want to push Sehun, the fans are crazy and he just wants Sehun to be comfortable, happy even. It’s laced with long silences where Luhan wrings his sleeves and then flattens them. He’s got a dark hole, large and black, perfect for going over criticism and immersing himself in self hate.

Sehun runs his fingers over the ridges of Luhan’s knuckles, all bruised and battered. Luhan stops to watch him with impossibly large eyes. It’s the clearest Sehun’s ever seen him, so strung up and working his way through topics diligently, not bouncing from sentence to sentence.

“I know.”

It’s all he offers and Luhan leaps on it. There’s relief in his face that’s so brilliant Sehun has to pull him down before they both fall over. Luhan’s breathing like he just did a marathon and Sehun’s trusting again even though it’s probably a bad idea because Luhan’s still unpredictable, but it feels good and that’s his gift to himself – a moment of peace.

 

**Author's Note:**

> kiralies@tumblr


End file.
